


Sherlock Is Actually A Girl's Name

by catharsis_in_a_bottle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, I was very bored, John Watson Being a Good Person, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Pianist Mycroft, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Sherlock, and very gay, so don't judge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:00:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26089825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catharsis_in_a_bottle/pseuds/catharsis_in_a_bottle
Summary: Brotherly antics and coming out. It's part of the deal when you make yourself.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 94





	Sherlock Is Actually A Girl's Name

**1\. John**

“John,” says Sherlock, opening his eyes to the light that streams through the dusty window of 221b. He’s been inside his head for hours. Any outside observer would be led to believe that he was more partial to the sight of the back of his eyelids than the atrocities of the outside world, and they would be correct. But his smooth baritone breaks the thick silence, and John, startled, looks up from his computer and lowers his reading glasses with a finger.

“You’re alive? Thought you were slipping into a coma there,” he says, his eyebrows scrunching together as Sherlock turns to face him. The detective rolls his eyes, leans back in his armchair with his legs crossed, and steeples his fingers together beneath his chin, taking a deep breath that shifts his entire form for a single silent moment. John stares at this display in apprehension, expecting a lecture, a conjecture, or perhaps the solution to an unsolved murder from months ago - which, just to note, has happened several times before. 

“There’s something I never told you.” Sherlock’s words crawl through the room, slow, unsure. It’s rare for him to speak like this. “Something I never told you, and I believe it to be quite important.” His gaze is shifting to every corner of the room. Is he… _nervous_?

John takes this in. He leans forward in his chair, peering curiously at Sherlock, at the light falling on his furrowed face. The doctor gives a small nod, as if to say _go on_. 

Sherlock takes another deep breath, one that brings his chest to impossible heights, before his statement rushes out in a hurried huff of air:

“Sherlock is actually a girl’s name.”

This elicits a short laugh from John, whose curious expectation turns into amusement. It’s a repeat statement, something Sherlock said with far too much solemnity on the airport tarmac so many months ago - _Sherlock is actually a girl’s name_ , when John had been expecting a far greater confession. 

“Bit late for that now,” the doctor chuckles. But Sherlock starts to shake his head, short little motions - _no, no no, no, no_. John’s laughter subsides, and suddenly he’s waiting again, watching Sherlock take yet another gargantuan breath as his hands shift to his knees, fingers tapping against his meticulously ironed slacks. 

“What I meant,” said Sherlock, “is that… erm…” Deep breath. Deep breath. He’s almost _never_ this scared. His fear is starting to rub off on John, who shifts in his seat and crosses his ankles, resting his chin on his knuckles as he remains patient for Sherlock. 

“It _was_ a girl’s name,” the detective continues. “It - I - I _was_. Do you see what I mean?”

John’s getting worried now. “Erm… no, not really, Sherlock.”

Sherlock is impatient, clearly frustrated that he’s failed to get his point across. It always irks him that people aren’t capable of understanding, but it’s a fact of life that he has, quite necessarily, accustomed himself to. 

“John.” Saying his name fills the space, provides a brief comfort. Then he says it, the thing he has never been able to say, even though they’ve known each other for years. Because with each passing day, each month that flew by, saying the words got infinitely harder.

“I’m. I’m… transgender.”

John’s face is blank. Unreadable. For a few terrifying moments, Sherlock’s breath hitches as he waits. He’s imagined this conversation countless times, each with countless possible outcomes. His hypotheses on John’s possible reactions have all been formed in the irritatingly powerful wake of hope, and hope is what pulls him through this silence now as dust floats through the air, shimmering in the ever persistent window light, outlining John’s motionless form.

Then John begins to laugh. Just a small laugh. The corners of his mouth pull up and he chuckles, and it’s all Sherlock can do not to groan and say _just get on with it already, tell me how you feel_. 

“Sherlock.” John smiles and looks into the other man’s eyes. “You could have just said that before all the buildup.”

Sherlock doesn’t allow himself to react. Not until he’s certain. “You’re not…”

“What? Mad? No. Surprised, ‘course. But not mad. I couldn’t be mad at you for something you can’t control.”

Oh, Christ. Of all the speculated reactions, this one ranks high up on the list. Sherlock can’t help but break into an ear-to-ear grin, letting out his own little laugh, a chuckle that definitely doesn’t do enough justice to the amount of relief he feels. And John laughs right along with him, giving him the look - _you idiot, you goddamn idiot_.

 _It’s all fine_.  
  


* * *

  
**2\. Mycroft**

It was a simple paragraph scrawled onto a crumpled piece of scrap paper and slipped under the door to Mycroft’s bedroom; the ramblings of a frightened seven-year-old with pigtails. 

_Dear Mycroft. I have never heard of anyone else named Sherlock. So even though it’s a girl’s name, it is very rare, and I was wondering if I could make it a boy’s name. And if you could call me your brother. And ‘he’. I am scared that Mummy and Daddy may hear me if I tell you, so I am writing a note. I am also scared of telling you, but I don’t know what to do. Please help. From Sherlock._

It was just a simple paragraph, but it was so _very_ vital. Mycroft listened. Mycroft cared. Mycroft helped his brother, and when the time came, he helped his brother talk things through with their parents. 

Now, many years later, Sherlock retains a certain despise of his older sibling, but his heart - its existence proven - can never forget Mycroft’s undeniable _love_. The game played by the two of them is strange; the derision, the snide battles, and the caring moments in between. But the game of bargaining is a sport they both excel at, and so Sherlock, a piano score of his own composition held tightly in hand, is picked up by a black cab and driven painstakingly through the London traffic. 

Mycroft’s living room is of galactic proportions. High ceiling, monstrous windows, dark wood panelled walls that make the space seem almost gothic. Mycroft is perched upon a green sofa with a full-on tome in his hands, scanning the thick pages at high speed from behind his reading glasses. He definitely notices Sherlock’s entry, but he doesn’t look up. Sherlock flops down on the opposite end of the couch, rests his chin on his fist, and stares pointedly at Mycroft for a solid three minutes until the elder of the two is forced to sigh, pull off his glasses, and gingerly slip a bookmark into his beloved source of entertainment before slamming it shut and turning to glare at Sherlock. 

“What do you want?”

Sherlock takes the piece of music in his hand and jabs it towards his brother. “Your monthly payment, brother dear,” he says, only slightly mocking. Mycroft’s hard gaze softens as he takes the sheets of music - a neatly printed score, though the original version had been scrawled hastily onto staff lines taped precariously around 221b. Wordlessly, Mycroft stands up and saunters over to the darkest corner of the ‘room’ (the suite), where a beautiful American piano sits in sleek silence - a black Steinway. Who knows how much _that_ cost. Mycroft spreads the piece out, pulls out the bench, sits down with the small huff that comes with middle age, and begins to pick through the first lines of the piece. It’s slow and easy to sight read, but it’s rather heartbreaking as well. Sherlock watches his brother’s wrists from the green sofa. 

Seven minutes later, Mycroft rises from the bench and comes back to sit on the couch. His stiff demeanor has relaxed significantly, and his gaze is thoughtful.

“A rather sad one, brother,” he says, looking at Sherlock’s unmoving, statue-like figure. 

“Yes, well,” Sherlock mumbles, “I believe I was high on a small amount of ecstasy when I wrote it. Rough week.”

Mycroft sighs, leaning back into the cushions and looking up towards the ceiling. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?” he asks. “The only injection you are permitted is -”

“Testosterone, yes.” Sherlock folds his hands beneath his chin. “I’ve heard it a million times.”

“I just wish you would heed me, brother mine,” Mycroft replies with a small frown. He knows that if anyone is to break Sherlock’s drug habit, it most likely won’t be him. But he can at least try, if only to save his brother from a fate that he has seen many others dragged into. 

The two relish the stillness for a few minutes, Sherlock staring at the wall, Mycroft at the ceiling. And Sherlock remembers why he doesn’t hate Mycroft. His older brother paid for surgeries, for hormones, for Sherlock to become Sherlock, and even if he can’t repay Mycroft in money, he can give him one of the few things that makes him human - music. So he does, and their rivalry remains peaceful - an oxymoron, yes, but one that is beneficial to both of them.

Sherlock stands at last, looking down on his brother and offering a smile.

“Goodbye, brother dear,” he says, throwing his scarf over his shoulder. “And, as always, thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I recently came across the idea of Sherlock being a trans man, and although it isn’t part of my personal headcanon, I decided to write a fic about it to appease my persistent desire to remain unproductive. So, from my gay ass to your obviously bored ass, this was my attempt at making things even more queer. Hope you enjoyed.


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